looo 


.NCI  E  NT 


HOMES 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


To 


with  the 


of  the  Author. 


Two  ANCIENT  HOMES. 


23g  a  itetoent  ®escentiant 

FROM    ANCESTRY    IN    LAWFUL   POSSESSION    OF 
THE    PREMISES    FOR    MORE    THAN 
TWO   HUNDRED   YEARS. 


CAMBRIDGE: 

PRIVATELY     PRINTED. 

1888. 


I  ooo 


TO 

FRIENDS   AND    PLEASANT  ACQUAINTANCE 
SEfjfe  Soften  of  Enwm&rattce 

IS    RESPECTFULLY    INSCRIBED 

BY   W.    E.    ABBOT. 

DORCHESTER, 

ist  January,  1888. 


901602 


PREFACE. 

'T^HIS  Poem,  in  two  Parts,  was  written  for  the 
Hundredth  Anniversary  of  the  second  house, 
in  1864. 

The  second  house  was  built  soon  after  its  prede 
cessor  was  burnt.  Nothing  remains  to  give  an  idea 
of  the  form,  material,  structure,  date,  or  age  of 
the  previous  house,  nor  whether  or  not  it  had  a 
predecessor. 

The  occupants  of  this  house,  giving  the  party  at 
that  time,  thought  they  might  rely  on  the  busy 
fingers  of  Time  to  not  merely  have  erased  from 
recollection  particular  passages,  but  also  to  have 


VI  PREFACE. 

made   everything   else   so   indistinct   as   to   become 
virtually  new. 

When,  therefore,  the  Golden  Wedding  drew  near, 
and  the  question  was  raised,  "  What  shall  we  do  for 
a  poem  ?  "  this  old  poem  was  mentioned  for  repeti 
tion.  Vigor,  beauty,  novelty,  taste,  force  are  not 
the  distinguishing  characteristics  of  Old  Age,  who 
rather  shrinks  from  duty  and  seeks  repose.  But 
Golden  Weddings  imply  old  age;  why  not  old 
poems? 


FRIENDS: 

The  responsible  writer  of  the  following  lines  defines 
his  position  before  you.  He  declines  the  title  of  Poet, 
to  which  he  claims  no  birthright ;  but  in  the  absence 
of  "  Genius,  to  the  manor  born"  is  here,  by  your  leave, 
a  poetaster,  — for  the  nonce,  perhaps,  —  to  touch  with 
genial,  saucy  smile  or  secret  tear  upon  old  histories 
and  time-hallowed  associations  running  in  ivy  green 
all  over  this  ancient  Home. 

For  Reverence,  Gratittide,  Love,  accept  the  Hope, 
perhaps  the  Fact ! 


THE   PREVIOUS   HOUSE. 

DATE  AND  AGE  AND   FORM  UNKNOWN. 

TN  days  of  yore,  when  hamlets  grooved  green  lanes 
Through  fenceless  farms ;  ploughed,  prayed  for  sun 

or  rains ; 

And  island-homes  in  ripples  dipped  their  feet, 
In  undulating  verdure,  dewy,  sweet ; 

Low  on  a  broad,  cleared,  gently  rising  slope 
For  long  had  stood  a  home  of  peace  and  hope, 
Where  azure  sky,  in  stars  or  garish  light, 
Cramped  winter-noons,  scarce  limited  the  night. 

Bluff  drifting  snows  blocked  yards,  doors,  windows,  sheds, 
While  sleepers,  all  unconscious,  warmed  in  beds. 
Or  strode  the  farmer,  sowing  grain  or  seed 
Beyond,  beside,  behind  him,  thrice,  at  speed, 


IO  THE  PREVIOUS  HOUSE. 

While  sped  the  dairymaid  with  empty  pails 
For  frothy  milk,  or  dropped  rough,  twisted  rails, 
To  let  her  frisky,  awkward  darlings  pass 
Among  the  wavy,  dewy,  growing  grass.  - 

When  summer-toil  anticipated  dawn, 

Mowed  grass,  ploughed  sod,  while  slept  the  bird  or  fawn, 

Full  harvest-moons  God's  bounty  still  invoked, 

With  teams  in  harness  and  with  oxen  yoked. 

Thick  tangled  woodbines,  looped  in  low  festoons, 
Exacting  homage,  cooled  the  afternoons. 
Grand  elms  looked  down  on  vanity  and  pride, 
In  loftier  worth  which  graces  did  not  hide. 

Brown  rolling  smokes  essayed  the  morning  air, 
To  rise,  veer,  convoluted  here  and  there, 
Till  wider,  rarer,  paler  flung  the  gauze, 
Grew  sleezy,  fringed,  and  torn  by  casual  flaws ; 


THE  PREVIOUS  HOUSE.  II 

A  denser  trail,  swung  on  the  freshening  breeze, 

To  earth  still  tethered,  soaring  over  trees, 

Then  melting,  mingling  in  cerulean  blue, 

Yet  broader  wings  stretched  wide,  and  upward  flew, 

Free,  all,  at  length,  from  every  fetter,  weight ; 
Involved,  combined,  each,  every  mutual  fate, 
Their  blended  breath  would  seem  a  household  prayer ; 
Hot,  upward  aspirations,  purer  there. 

By  night,  unarmed,  no  bolts  the  timid  drew ; 
All  day  through  stable-lofts  paired  swallows  flew ; 
Twin  doors  embraced  the  stranger,  neighbor,  friend, 
Who  loved,  with  visits,  business-tact  to  blend. 

Sweet,  rural  peace,  forgotten,  spared  by  fate, 
Overwhelmed,  alas,  ere  warning  came,  too  late  ! 
Noon  pressed  the  latch,  sent  Folly  on  before  ; 
Rash  Ruin  entered,  closed  to  Hope  the  door  ! 


12  THE  PREVIOUS  HOUSE. 

Soon  smoke  and  flames  rebuked  too  reckless  hands, 
Which  fagots  heaped  on  smouldering  logs  and  brands. 
For  vengeance,  sport  to  gauzy  flues  set  fire, 
In  anapestic  grief  thrills,  wails  the  lyre  ! 

Ah  !  blame  her  not,  whose  sudden,  strange  alarm 
Unnerved  her  bosom,  palsied  tongue,  will,  arm  ; 
By  father,  friends,  e'en  hirelings,  left  alone,  — 
Young,  helpless,  hopeless,  guilty,  frantic  one  ! 

In  her  were  sweetly  mingled  love  and  strife. 

Maid,  spinster,  housewife,  "Auntie,"  promised  wife, — 

For  eighty  years  the  same  sad  tale  she  told, 

With  shame  and  sorrow,  while  her  blood  ran  cold  ! 

An  obelisk,  to  fancy,  marks  a  grave 
Where  looms  a  chimney.     Weeping  willows  wave ; 
Peeps,  rounds  the  moon ;  wanes,  twinkles,  sets  the  star, 
While  blackened  ruins  gloom  'mid  smoke  afar  ! 


THE    PRESENT    HOUSE. 

1764.       123    YEARS   OLD. 

A     "  RAISING,"  long  expected,  came  at  length, 
-*••*•     For  neutral  petticoats,  gray  heads  and  strength, 
Sweet  girls  perverse,  and  persevering  beaux 
Who  grasped  at  thorns  to  win  and  wear  the  rose. 

House-raisings  called  for  beans,  fat  pork,  cold  punch ; 
Accorded  dainties,  rum,  hot  flip,  at  lunch. 
Shrewd  beauty  thought  no  harm  to  harvest  grapes 
From  wayside  vineyards,  —  currants,  shams,  or  apes  ! 

Good  cider,  hard  or  sweet,  was  left  on  tap, 
Swigged,  sucked  from  tins  through  straws,  on  sod  or  lap. 
Stern  Temperance,  himself  a  hoodwinked  judge, 
Laid    down    man's    law,    not    God's !      Old    sots   cried 
" Fudge  ! " 


14  THE  PRESENT  HOUSE. 

Small  statesmen  hobnobbed,  with  clowns,  a  glass. 
Fair  ladies  curtsied,  sipped,  sipped,  sipped,  alas  ! 
Girls,  matrons,  just  a  little  bold  or  wild, 
Grew  mellow,  weak  and  fuddled,  friend  or  child. 

In  aqua  vita  priests  owned  wondrous  power 
To  garner  souls  and  soothe  a  sadder  hour ; 
To  proselyte,  convert,  shared  Holland  gin  ; 
Reformed  a  creed,  forgot  the  darling  sin. 

In  soberer  weeks'  alternate  toil,  repose, 
Thy  frame  was  cut  and  hewn  —  in  sport,  uprose. 
Oak  forests  bowed  a  haughty,  royal  knee, 
Their  crowns  cast  down,  to  aid  and  honor  thee  ! 

Unquarried  strata  spared  primeval  stone 
For  cellars  damp,  where  silver  hoar-frosts  shone. 
Small  blear-eyed  glass,  in  cherry  casements  shaped, 
A  grand  ideal  mourned,  in  cerements  draped. 


THE  PRESENT  HOUSE.  15 

Rough  deals,  on  ragged  sleepers  nailed,  were  hung 
Awaiting  panelled  doors,  smoothed  boards  among. 
Slow  kindled  hope  in  weak,  bewildered  smoke, 
From  filial  chips  of  timber  pasture-oak. 

Of  stature  low,  with  one  tremendous  stride, 
Thine  age,  thy  strength,  bridge  centuries  in  pride. 
Below  their  arches  grand  slide  broad,  deep  streams, 
For  ship  or  yacht ;  for  wreck  or  rafts  of  weedy  dreams  ! 

Ah  !  where  are  they  whose  axes,  cart,  and  spade 
Burnt  rubbish,  moved  and  changed  the  ancient  grade ; 
Whose  glass  and  plummet,  or  long  links  of  steel, 
Rebuked  a  rustic's  guess,  or  fixed  the  seal  ? 

Where,  where  are  they  whose  polished  trenchant  tools 
Amazed  the  dunces,  dolts  of  district-schools ; 
Who  clomb  from  ladders  short,  achieved  the  height, 
From  habit  brave,  by  instinct  sure,  not  sight ; 


16  THE  PRESENT  HOUSE. 

Whose  fearless  feet  ran,  leaped,  from  beam  to  joist, 
Whose  grasp  seized  pulley-ropes  with  palm  more  moist, 
Whose  maul  re-echoed  through  laced,  alcoved  leaves  : 
Whose  ring  of  hammer  vexed  the  shelving  eaves  ? 

Gone  !  Gone  !  From  love  and  memory  forever  gone  ! 
Their  souls  in  heaven,  their  dust  beneath  the  stone  ! 
Sweet  daisies  bloom  to  chronicle  their  worth ; 
Names,  scripture,  dates,  ignore  death,  life  and  birth  ! 

Beneath  old  toppling  slates  and  grassy  mounds 
Asleep,  oblivion  pervades,  surrounds. 
Quaint  "  Old  Mortality  "  arrives  too  late. 
Turns  soon  to  go,  drags,  grasps  a  shattered  gate  ! 

A  spacious  brow,  long  stalwart  limbs,  as  well 
Their  dust  commingles  in  a  lonely  dell. 
But  living  soul  survives  a  mouldering  brain, 
Inspires  homes,  towns ;  lives  on,  in  sunshine,  rain  ! 


THE  PRESENT  HOUSE.  If 

Where  fingers  moulded  substance,  angles,  arcs, 
Electric  mind  to  mind  emits  free  sparks. 
As  sunset  glows  with  gorgeous,  harmless  fires, 
Reflects  a  universe  as  day  retires. 

Dim,  in  the  twilights  of  a  dawning  age, 
Our  history  unclasps  a  titlepage 
In  yellow,  mutilated  records,  old, 
Tradition,  mythical,  from  lips  long  cold, 

Dots  merely  seeming  truth,  more  salient  facts 
Of  town  and  church,  home,  daily  life,  in  acts 
Which  wrote  themselves  in  light  to  view  of  all, 
To  vanish,  with  the  sunshine,  from  the  wall ! 

Or  Progress,  rapid  writer,  blurred  with  haste 
(Ere  yet  more  graceful  pens  engrossed  with  taste) 
Those  hints,  or  records,  of  our  state  and  name, 
Which  marry  modern  fact  to  ancient  fame. 


1 8  THE  PRESENT  HOUSE. 

Two  hundred  years,  in  snows  or  genial  heat, 
From  glaciers  slide,  melt,  running  at  our  feet, 
Since  our  old  ancestors,  by  name  unknown, 
Were  "  citizens  of  credit  and  renown." 

A  mist  about  our  origin  and  date 
Takes  shape.     A  man,  abroad  on  his  estate, 
Seems  actual  sight !    Tall,  large,  symmetric  form, 
August  in  cloudless  skies,  serene  in  storm, 

Stands  forth  to  view,  extends  his  mildewed  scrolls 
Inscribed  with  honored  names,  diviner  souls  ! 
From  pouches  peep  deeds,  contents  of  the  mails ; 
Indorsed,  illegible  ;  we  guess  it  —  Wales. 

Thence  quite  unbroken  is  the  olden  line 

Which  vertebrates  and  nerves  thy  sturdy  spine, 

In  vital  breath  still  hot  with  ancient  fire, 

Which  glowed  and  cooled  in  yeoman,  merchant,  squire. 


THE  PRESENT  HOUSE.  19 

The  yeoman  boasted  grasses,  apples,  sheaves, 

Milk,  butter,  cheese,  sheep,  poultry,  calves  and  beeves. 

The  good  wife  twirled  the  intermittent  wheel, 

Ruled  roost  and  roast  and  carved  with  polished  steel. 

Unknown  to  fame,  on  'change,  in  print,  or  state, 
A  Cincinnatus  shrewd,  he  shunned  debate. 
Forsook  the  rostrum,  spurned  a  curule-chair, 
A  man  in  serge,  the  Roman  everywhere. 

One  bud  his  rose-bush  bore,  matured  by  stealth, 
For  love,  sweet-brier :  perfume,  charm  for  wealth. 
A  brisk  young  merchant  dealt  in  Southern  flour,  — 
Suggestive  quite  of  buttonhole  and  bower  ! 

"  Good  man  of  business,"  drilled  in  stern  routine, 
He  left  Long  Wharf  "  too  soon ; "  what  could  it  mean? 
To  squander  golden  time  in  parlour,  porch, 
While  Cupid  sped  a  shaft,  or  flared  his  torch  ! 


2O  THE  PRESENT  HOUSE. 

Or  chase  the  maid  on  swift,  talarial  feet, 

Through  tangling  windrows  green,  by  hay-cocks  neat, 

Surprise  a  privilege  he  would  not  miss ; 

In  redder,  longer  ears,  regret  the  bliss  ! 

Rake  waifs,  estrays,  in  mischief  dropped,  apart, 
By  jokers  on  the  load,  beside  the  cart ; 
Help  through  the  bars,  replace  the  rude  split  rails ; 
From  later  sunset  bear  two  brimming  pails  ! 

Carve  yoked  initials  on  a  silvery  birch, 
Which  wags  interpret,  "  Rector  !  Altar  !  Church  ! " 
Pre-published  bans  for  troth  in  breasts  concealed  ! 
Blush,  scream  to  hear  what  "  tongues  in  trees  "  revealed. 

In  time,  with  easy  manners,  more  at  home, 
He  teased  his  truthful  maid ;  dared,  loved  to  roam, 
To  smooth  slight  furrows,  deepening  on  his  brow ; 
Strolled  out  to  frighten  sheep,  "  coa-coa,"  the  cow, 


THE  PRESENT  HOUSE.  21 

With  rock  for  bone  cajole  the  eager  dog ; 
With  cobs  for  corn  rebuff  the  greedy  hog ; 
"  Cut,  cut,  cutdacuts  "  start  from  formal  hens ; 
Smoke  through  the  barns,  or  muskrats  shoot  in  glens ; 

Tipped  or  yawned  in  elbow-chairs,  told  all  the  news, 
Strolled  late  by  moonlight,  heedless  of  the  dews ; 
Forgot  fatigue  and  tough,  perplexing  cares, 
While  beauty,  fun,  and  love  set  secret  snares. 

No  frosts  forbade  swift  bells  or  swifter  steel ; 
No  surf  repelled  their  daring,  foamy  wheel ; 
No  vicious  jennet  spoiled  a  moonlit  ride, 
Plunged,  reared,  or  shied  at  chasmal  shadows  wide. 

No  whizzing  ramrods  paled  the  woman's  cheek 
On  muster-fields  at  war,  where  Greek  met  Greek. 
No  gun  accelerated  egg-nog  smooth, 
Made  stiff  bows  gracious,  helped  old  friends  to  soothe. 


22  THE  PRESENT  HOUSE. 

No  wilting  heats  embargoed  journeys  long, 
In  square-top  chaise,  with  roadster  slow,  but  strong. 
Their  cousins  welcomed,  taverned  night  and  day ; 
Hugged,  wept,  and  sped  them,  with  sweet  smiles,  away. 

Soon  passed  some  fleeting  months  in  joyous  hours, 

In  azure  skies,  or  beneficial  showers ; 

And  when  at  length  a  tiny,  glossy  curl 

Hung  near  his  heart  —  exchanged  for  ring  of  pearl. 

What  all  the  village  guessed,  the  town  clerk  knew ; 
What  everybody  doubted,  hoped,  "  was  true  !  " 
Linked  arm  in  arm  these  dear  ones  dared  to  pair, 
Face  down  all  meaning  smiles,  a  bolder  stare  ! 

One  little  word,  alone,  remained  to  speak ; 

Weighed,  fluttered  at  their  hearts ;  paled,  wet  a  cheek,  — 

A  word  of  power,  high  hope,  immortal  love, 

Which  angels  lean  to  hear,  record,  above. 


THE  PRESENT  HOUSE.  23 

The  wedding-day  foreseen,  the  pair  twice  one, 
No  girl's  caprice  need  now  the  match  postpone  ! 
Absorbed  was  he  to  catch  her  glance,  her  smile  ; 
Too  anxious  she,  too  young,  too  arch,  the  while. 

His  slippery  eel  he  grasped  with  golden  sands. 
She  strung  her  amulets,  to  skirts  stitched  lands ; 
Beau-knots  unlooped,  to  bind  a  tough  "  square-knot " 
In  bonds  of  duty,  love,  for  land  and  cot. 

No  fickle  loveis,  bound  for  mutual  strife, 
But  dearer  sweethearts,  noosed  as  husband,  wife. 
"  Cornelian  jewels  "  clasped  her  neck  and  arms ; 
More  precious  gems  within  gave  holy  charms. 

Took  thus  the  slip  upon  a  grafted  bush, 
Smooth,  delicate,  and  sweet,  stem,  bud,  and  blush,  — 
An  opening  bud  embosomed  in  its  June, 
Snatched,  ere  it  fell,  by  heartless  death,  too  soon  ! 


24  THE  PRESENT  HOUSE. 

Twined,  thatched  his  bower  in  dewy  joyous  spring, 
In  vases  graced  his  home,  green  swelled  to  flowering ; 
In  fatal  frost,  with  faded,  falling  leaves, 
Heaven  wove  a  shroud  and  dropped  it  from  the  eaves  ! 

A  dying  saint,  propped  in  her  easy  chair, 
Her  hands  in  his,  breathed  out  her  life  in  prayer. 
In  downy  snow  they  pillowed  soft  her  bed ; 
In  tears,  hymns,  prayer  were  whispered. 

Vows,  which  bound  a  dearest,  mutual  life, 

His  living  love  renewed  to  angel-wife  ! 

"  Forget  me  not,"  in  flowers  breathed  memory  sweet ! 

"  Forget  thee?  Never  !  "  heart  and  sigh  repeat. 

Broad  flaps,  low  collars,  "  small-clothes  "  gave  the  tone. 
Cocked  hats,  silks,  shoes  with  square  paste  buckles  shone. 
Brooch,  signet-ring,  watch,  golden-headed  cane, 
All  marked  "  a  gentleman,  complete,"  —  not  vain. 


THE  PRESENT  HOUSE.  2$ 

Tall,  straight,  in  powdered  hair  and  ribboned  queue, 
Starched  frill,  hand-ruffles  sheer,  he  sought  his  pew ; 
Turned  not  the  curious  ear,  nor  wandering  eye, 
But  knelt  in  heart,  as  incense  soared  on  high. 

Courteous  in  manner,  dignified,  not  stern, 
His  words  were  weighty,  quick  to  pierce  or  burn. 
In  strong,  true  hands  upheld  he  doubtful  scales, 
Pressed  not  the  beam,  nor  missed  just  weights  and  tales. 

In  parlours,  peer,  in  all  humility ; 
In  hovels,  gracious,  just,  and  kind  was  he. 
Forgot  not  conscience  at  the  desk,  in  streets ; 
Bade  time  and  truth  state,  audit  balance-sheets. 

Grand,  graceful,  like  his  fine  old  trees, 

For  storms  too  strong,  an  aspen  in  the  breeze, 

He  towered  in  height,  strength,  graces,  all  his  own,  — 

A  sycamore,  an  elm,  an  oak  in  one. 


26  THE  PRESENT  HOUSE. 

A  moderator,  chosen  by  the  town 
For  reverence  and  trust,  —  no  mean  renown,  — 
Rude,  boyish  men  he  ruled  with  moral  power ; 
Had  oil  for  troubled  seas  should  tempests  lower. 

On  him  were  laid  the  many  weighty  trusts 
Which  earn  no  coin,  confer  no  marble  busts. 
For  him  too  short  man's  brief  appointed  day. 
While  sands  were  yet  to  run  he  passed  away. 

Uprose  late  languid  dawn  from  murky  night, 

In  weeds  of  woe,  in  tears,  dim,  dismal  blight ! 

Warm  on  the  fog  the  sun  ascending  shone ; 

Pure  breezes  swept  the  gloom  —  "  Squire  Wales  "  was  gone  ! 

His  son  inherited  home,  lands,  and  fame  ! 
Scratched  "  Jr."  from  his  patronymic  name. 
A  brother's  love  forsook  a  Southern  mart ; 
Brought  home  his  wealth  and  with  it,  too,  a  heart. 


THE  PRESENT  HOUSE.  2^ 

For  many  years  the  aged,  worthy  poor 
Raised  tattered  hats,  of  gift  or  guerdon  sure, 
Would  he  but  heed  long,  threadbare  tales  once  more 
Of  "  Old  Squire  Wales,"  — new  sixty  years  before. 

How  often  hypocrites  shammed  glad  surprise  ! 
Or  widows  would  expect  more  prompt  supplies  ! 
Gray  spinsters  alternate  triennial  fetes, 
Or  dine,  alone,  a  week  from  china  plates  ! 

Good  sire,  good  son,  loved  well  the  pilgrim  church, 
Left  not  his  faithful  pastor  in  the  lurch, 
Harked  not  to  hear  (two  miles)  the  feeble  bell, 
But  kept  the  time  —  and  kept  his  horses  well. 

At  Massachusetts  Bay,  with  living  freight, 

The  "  one-horse  shay  "  —  small  boats  —  were  seldom  late. 

A  pillion  wived  the  saddle,  curved  a  spine  ; 

All  ages  thronged  the  highways,  dipped  the  brine. 


28  THE  PRESENT  HOUSE. 

One  empty  pew  on  Sunday  made  some  talk ; 
Some  empty  seats,  —  "  If  bipeds,  yet  could  walk  !  " 
The  pastor  called  on  Monday,  to  his  praise  ! 
Talked  long  of  duty,  heaven,  the  "  good  old  ways." 

No  devotees,  the  brother,  sister,  niece 
Dwelt  here  "  in  single-blessedness  "  and  peace, 
Social,  not  "  old,"  —  nay,  rather  gay  than  grave,  — 
Received  their  friends,  made  parties  on  the  wave. 

What  pleasant  volumes  might  have  mingled  song, 

Strange  narratives,  odd  portraitures  among, 

Instinct  with  wit,  or  mirth-provoking  fun, 

When  ginger-beer  could  pop  and  cap  good  wit  or  pun  ! 

A  bridal  party  closed  the  Janus-visaged  hall, 

Where  hands  and  hearts  for  union  sped  a  ball. 

While  "  Home  "  at  dials  pointed,  pursed  her  lips, 

And  coachmen  quelled  their  brutes,  with  shouts,  good  whips, 


THE  PRESENT  HOUSE.  29 

Symbolic  grief  suffused  an  April  sky  ! 
Presentiments  were  strong,  but  none  knew  why ; 
And  soon  ill-omened  joy  to  dread  gave  birth ; 
A  swelling  tear-drop  fell ;  checked  boisterous  mirth. 

Death,  unattended,  sought  an  old  man's  couch ; 
Frowned  not,  nor  smiled,  reluctant,  slow  to  touch ; 
For  he  could  pity  with  consummate  art ; 
Stoop,  kiss  the  lips,  to  grasp,  estop  the  heart ! 

Now  all  are  dust  save  her,  —  that  one  alone 

Whose  love  includes  all  hearts  —  yet  clasps  her  zone  — 

Whose  wedded  blood  unites  in  time  and  tide, 

A  living  few,  the  many  who  have  died  ! 

But  thou  art  much  the  same  to-day,  old  friend : 

Thy  youth,  thine  age,  strength,  hope,  and  comfort  blend. 

Thy  shingles  bear  no  parasitic  moss ; 

No  bricks  fierce  whirlwinds  from  thy  chimneys  toss. 


3O  THE  PRESENT  HOUSE. 

A  grand  old-fashioned  hall  we  promenade, 
Where  some  have  danced,  more  seen,  a  gallopade, 
Felt  zephyrs  dry  at  leisure  cool  the  brow, 
Till  dimpled  blushes  paled  to  rose  or  snow. 

That  crypt  beneath  the  easy-going  stair, 
What  joys  of  frolic-fun,  what  feasts,  were  there  ! 
What  cake,  pies,  olives,  fruits,  preserves,  cold  meats  ! 
What  honeyed  lips  were  sealed  —  no  spy  repeats  ! 

Looms  in  the  sky  a  clock  of  cycled  years ; 
God's  hand  impels,  the  careful  index  veers ; 
No  pendule  swings ;  no  chimes  ring  mean  or  end ; 
In  viewless  gearing,  ages  roll  and  blend. 

A  "  prisoner  for  life,"  mine  old  Scotch  clock  ! 
In  busy  idleness,  kept  under  lock, 
Thou  scorest  tales  of  brick,  while  restless  Time 
The  crumbling  old  rebuilds,  fair,  grand,  sublime  ! 


THE  PRESENT  HOUSE.  3 1 

The  years,  as  rocks,  pile  up  the  mountain-age  ! 
Thy  moments,  emmet-mounds  of  child  or  sage  ! 
Sow  continents,  broadcast,  with  seeds  as  sands, 
Bear  fruitage,  harvest-home,  in  happier  lands. 

A  dial  all  Eternity  includes  ! 
Beginning,  middle,  end,  Time  seeks,  eludes  ! 
Life  treads  a  path  through  perils,  toil,  and  loss, 
Twelve  meek  disciples  follow,  bear  a  cross. 

Should  one,  like  Judas,  love  and  life  betray, 
Thou  layest  down  dead-weights ;  till,  with  new  day, 
A  hand  unlocks  the  door.    Then  flees  the  night, 
Come  life  and  immortality  to  light. 

Mute  thinker,  thou !  how  eloquent  for  all, 
As  pale  the  stars,  or  glooms  of  evening  fall. 
Prompt  sentinel,  to  point,  proclaim  alarms, 
Ring  out  old  chimes  for  new-born  hours  in  arms ; 


32  THE  PRESENT  HOUSE. 

Then,  as  thy  clasping  hands  the  fleeting  hours 
Arrest  at  noon,  surprise  in  dreamy  bowers 
With  feeling,  meaning,  deep,  sweet  tones  of  bell, 
Smiles  through  mute  tears ;  tolls,  tolls  a  frequent  knell. 

With  swinging  pendulum,  slow  click  of  steel, 
Through  artery  and  nerve,  pulse-pang  we  feel 
Insinuate,  in  pendent,  sinking  weights, 
Our  wasting  energies,  impending  fates  ! 

Thus  mused  Carmichael  when  his  wintry  day, 
At  Greenock  on  the  Clyde,  grew  short,  cold,  gray ! 
Set  free  a  sigh,  long  locked  within  his  breast, 
Which  pendulums  reiterate,  for  rest ! 

Our  brazen  monitor  forbids  the  hour 
To  eye  and  ear,  for  curious  deed,  or  dower, 
Quaint  furniture,  old,  massive,  brassy,  dark, 
Heirlooms,  since  Cristal  Colon  moored  his  bark ; 


THE  PRESENT  HOUSE.  33 

Reserves  full  shelves  of  tall,  thick,  heavy  tomes, 

Whose  God,  whose  wrath,  nay,  heaven,  made  gloomy  homes ; 

Forgets  the  prurient  wit  which  stained  the  play, 

Gave  point  to  satire,  genius  to  the  lay. 

And  yet  a  certain  something  more  remains  — 

Not  told,  but  felt  —  for  hearts,  if  not  for  brains,  — 

A  warmer,  deeper  feeling ;  central  life, 

Which  all  can  share,  —  friends,  kindred,  husband,  wife ; 

A  sense  of  age,  and  all  that  age  implies : 
Ripe  thought,  great  deeds,  and  wondrous  memories 
Of  home,  sweet  home ;  content ;  unselfish  love ; 
Of  faith  in  God,  in  Christ,  men,  heaven  above ; 

Strong  thrills  of  conscience,  duty,  friendship,  truth ; 

The  arrow  tipped  with  love,  for  age  or  youth ; 

A  dearer  hope,  which  onward  runs,  aspires, 

From  dreams  of  dear  ones  lost,  —  our  mothers,  sires  ; 


34  THE  PRESENT  HOUSE. 

A  heart  of  love  pulsating  through  the  whole ; 
A  keener  insight,  teaching,  thrilling  soul ; 
An  all-sufficient  trust,  embosomed,  warm, 
In  holy  love,  which  feels  a  stronger  arm 

Lift  off  all  burdens  from  a  failing  strength, 
Or  bears  a  crushing  cross  and  dies,  at  length, 
Saved,  peaceful,  blest,  in  boundless  love  of  God  ; 
Adoring  still,  in  blessing,  want  or  rod  ! 

How  much  appeals  to  human  hearts  and  souls 
In  jottings,  sketches  —  portraits  life  enrolls  ! 
Once  living  in  substantial,  real  men ; 
Do  not  their  nuder  souls  return  again 

To  whisper  wiser  thought,  renew  the  love 
Which  home  and  heart  and  heaven  alike  approve, 
Dwelling  as  once,  in  parlours,  bedrooms,  hall, 
Celestial  visitors,  but  heirs  of  all  ? 


THE  PRESENT  HOUSE  35 

Ideal  forms,  to  life  and  law  unknown, 

A  realm  is  theirs.    Love  —  sceptre,  crown,  and  throne  !  — 

Enacts  the  pattern  spouse,  the  dearer  wife, 

Recalls  anew,  depicts,  domestic  life  ! 

In  boiling  suds  the  lady  dips  her  mop, 
Scalds,  wipes  the  "  breakfast  things,"  or  dries  a  slop  ! 
With  smoothing-iron  hot  smooths  wills  and  work ; 
Shells  peas  and  beans,  to  boil  with  fowls  and  pork  ! 

Sweeps,  dusts  a  room ;  now  pours  the  fragrant  tea ; 
Arranges  coiffure  and  kerchief  jauntily ; 
Through  hems  and  seams  drives  brittle  needles  new ; 
Clicks,  clicks  her  knitting-pins ;  darns  socks,  a  few. 

At  evening  dons  her  silk,  for  grace,  not  show ; 
Displays  high  heels,  eliminates  a  toe  ! 
Selects  rare  muslins,  laces,  clapped  so  clear 
That  maidens  envy,  spinsters  spare  a  tear. 


36  THE  PRESENT  HOUSE. 

The  consort-shade,  blank,  dreamy  absentee, 
Warm  in  diffusive  heat,  his  members  free, 
Picks  up  small  coals,  woos  wooden  lips  to  smile, 
Sends  flames  through  teeth  by  magic,  all  the  while ; 

Views  land  and  grounds,  looks  sharp  for  buds  or  fruit, 
For  borers  probes  the  bark,  lays  bare  the  root ; 
His  thumbs  in  arm-holes,  noiseless  treads  the  floor ; 
Winds  clock  and  watch,  and  locks  the  outer  door ; 

Stands  shaving,  leaning,  mouthing,  at  a  glass, 
Mocked  by  his  eidolon  —  himself,  alas  ! 
Strops,  strops  the  steel ;  splits  hairs  along  the  edge, 
Dips,  wipes,  and  cases,  lays  it  on  the  ledge  ! 

Drives  home  from  town,  at  times  perchance  too  late, 

To  dinner,  hot,  on  pewter  water-plate ; 

First  greeting  all  the  circle  of  his  loves, 

Hangs  coat,  hat,  whip,  and  loops  his  driving-gloves ; 


THE  PRESENT  HOUSE.  37 

Makes  salads,  carves  fat  poultry,  sirloins  rare ; 
Reads  all  the  news ;  pares  fruit  and  loves  to  share  j 
Stout  man  of  business,  in  his  own  snug  room, 
A  patient,  feeble,  hopeful  —  waiting  doom  ! 

His  dear  ones  thoughtful,  ever  tender,  true ; 
For  pipes,  "  Old  Kitefoot,"  slippers,  gouty  shoe ; 
While  pure  sweet  love  clean  table-linen  spreads, 
With  sugared  embers  warms  rheumatic  beds. 

To  memory  the  sure  return  of  dates 
Records  young  follies  gay,  heart-rending  fates  ! 
Home  offers  nests  alike  to  dove  and  raven. 
Through  shattered  glass  they  fly ;  alight  in  heaven  ! 

Drops  buds  of  promise,  nipt  with  early  frost, 
Green  windfall  fruit,  decayed,  bruised,  tempest-tost. 
Hauls  golden  corn,  good  grain  in  silvery  sheaves ; 
A  fallen  tree,  bereft  of  all  its  leaves  ! 


38  THE  PRESENT  HOUSE. 

Grand,  patriotic  powder  pains  the  ear, 
Wounds,  singes  eyebrows,  stains  complexions  clear, 
Bursts,  honey-combed,  a  war-worn,  storied  gun ; 
Spurns  dolts  who  rammed,  or  touched  it  off  for  fun. 

Thanksgiving  ushers,  follows  dismal  fast ; 
Cheese,  gingerbread,  an  epicure's  repast ! 
Glad  warmer  benisons  break  from  deep  repose, 
As  New  Year  dawns,  or  Christmas  greens  in  snows. 

Time  coins  great  deeds,  great  hopes ;  stamps  bust  and  date  ! 
Hoards  sterling  worth,  "  small  change  "  flings  forth  to  fate  ! 
Reversed  the  fine  medallions,  prone,  in  dust ; 
Print  laurel  leaves,  indorse  grand  types  of  trust. 

Boots,  beard,  frock-coat,  vote,  business,  sweetheart,  wife,  — 
Behold  strung  beads  on  rosaries  of  life  ! 
One  year  unites,  divides,  the  strong,  the  fair ; 
Enjoys  baptismal  love ;  repeats  it  there. 


THE  PRESENT  HOUSE.  39 

Groups  Christian  hearts  around  a  Christian's  bed 
For  hymns  and  prayer.     The  Saviour's  table  spread, 
In  elements,  imparts  the  life  divine, 
Ere  dying  lips  their  mortal  breath  resign. 

How  living,  here,  these  phantoms  of  the  dead  ! 
They  grow  not  old  with  years,  inspire  no  dread  ! 
Return,  as  guests,  where  once  they  had  a  home ; 
Another  age  invites,  they  all  are  come  !  • 

The  eye  forgets,  and  more  forgets  the  ear, 
But  hearts,  warm,  true,  remember  to  revere  ! 
At  home  they  meet  us  still ;  heart  yearns  to  heart ; 
From  heart  and  home  they  never  shall  depart, 

But  dwell  with  us  who  knew  them,  to  approve, 
Guide,  bring  us  home  to  heaven,  in  dearest  love. 
On  stony  grades,  or  oasis  in  sand, 
Pause,  rest  awhile  j  toil  upward,  hand  in  hand ; 


4O  THE  PRESENT  HOUSE. 

Wreathe  from  a  sweet  wild  wayside  rose,  in  flower, 
A  "  crown  of  thorns  "  for  love  and  faith,  in  power. 
At  footprints  pointing  where  the  Saviour  trod, 
They  lead  us  to  the  Throne  and  Love  of  God. 

Friends,  pilgrims  all,  the  sunset  waits  for  none  ! 
We  mark  our  league,  inscribe  and  set  a  stone. 
Our  dear  old  homes  give  rest  in  peace  at  even, 
In  love,  sweet  hope,  a  dream,  —  the  bliss  of  heaven. 


